


Boy Toy

by thealphagate_archivist



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: M/M, challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-26
Updated: 2006-03-26
Packaged: 2019-02-02 06:20:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12721251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thealphagate_archivist/pseuds/thealphagate_archivist
Summary: Chat room Island Fic Challenge; boys, island, sex, five hundred words or less.





	Boy Toy

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the archivists: this story was originally archived at [The Alpha Gate](https://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Alpha_Gate), a Stargate SG-1 archive, which began migration to the AO3 in 2017 when its hosting software, eFiction, was no longer receiving support. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2017. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are this creator and it hasn't transferred to your AO3 account, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Alpha Gate collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/thealphagate).

  
Author's notes: Sand, smarm, slut warning.  


* * *

"Mr. O'Neill?"

I knocked.

"Hello, anyone here?" I knocked again and opened the door. 

"Out here." The voice drifted in from the veranda. A cool salt tinged breeze ruffled cotton sheers revealing a lone figure, drink in hand looking away, out to sea. I walked out onto the veranda, stood a few feet away and followed his gaze to another copper streaked Tahitian sunset. God, we got these every damn day and they never got boring. Yet if you painted one or photographed it, customers smirked and said it never really looked that way. Fat lot they know. Their loss. After a long moment he turned and gave me an appraising look, frank and hungry. 

"How much?"

"Uh, five hundred an hour or five grand for the night."

He looked me up and down again, walked a little closer and touched the top button on my shirt. 

"Take it off."

I lifted my hand to the first button, brushing under his and fingered it open.

"Slowly," he said and dropped back into the rattan chair behind him. He wanted a show. I was cool with that. I reached back, grabbed the back of my shirt and dragged it slowly over my head and up my arms, tightening them to show my triceps and biceps. 

I let the shirt slide down my arm, dropped it and ran a hand up over my abs, caressing myself, tilted my head back, slitted my eyes. My hand drifted over a nipple and I licked my lips, sighing. Ran the same hand down to my fly and tugged one open, ran the other hand down over the denim-covered rise of my cock. Another button on my fly and his pupils dilated, his eyes black with lust. Looked like I might be in for a rough ride. God, I hoped so. One more button and enough of my short and curlies showed for me to slide my fingers through it and down the front of my pants to grab my aching cock and give it a nice, tight squeeze. He was out of his seat, right in my face, backing me to the rough wooden doorframe. "What's your name?" his lips brushed the shell of my ear sending a sparking jolt straight to my dick and there was no way he couldn't have felt that against his hip. 

"D..D..Daniel." I gasped, the tingle of adrenalin and desire closing my throat.

"Hmmmm. Nice." His lips were on my neck; his teasing hand worked the last button on my jeans and tugged them down over my ass and hips. 

"Turn around, D..D..Daniel." he teased.

Fucking bastard.

* * *

"Five hundred an hour?"

"Hey, you can afford it."

"That's not the point."

"I take personal checks."

"You little shit."

"Actually, I think I'm bigger than you now."

"Danieelll..."

"We can work out a payment plan if you like. JACK!"

"Payment plan my ass, I want my money's worth NOW."

"Fucking bastard."

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

Fin


End file.
